Entropy
by IseeButterfly
Summary: Everything in an isolated system strives for the maximum level of disorder. The evolution of Raphael's attraction to a special Daughter of Men in his life and the progression of his downfall. Rated M for mature content in future chapters and language. Fluff and smut!
1. 1

**Everything in an isolated system strives for the maximum level of disorder. **

**The evolution of Raphael's sexual attraction to a special daughter of men in his life and the progression of his downfall.  
>Rated M for mature content in later chapters. <strong>

* * *

><p>She is wearing that red dress again.<p>

Water drips from her wet hair onto the scarlet cloth, staining the fabric dark, goosebumps spreading over her neck and arms. She has left the pantyhose and shoes in the corner and her legs are completely bare. There is nothing on her but that little piece of red fabric.

Raffe pulls his eyes from her as she enthusiastically digs into her meal. Looking at her is difficult. He needs to focus, now especially. The daughters of men have never been a distraction for him and they wouldn't be now. He won't allow it.

"Please don't wait up for me," he says, though he doesn't think she would, anyway. The girl is so starved, she doesn't seem to get the food in fast enough. He feels a twinge of guilt. Before his kind came into her world, he's sure she had plenty of food.

He shakes the thought off. Humans let their own kind starve to death, while throwing away precious food on a daily basis, and here he is, feeling guilty for them. He needs to clear his head. Get his life back on track. He would get back his wings, settle things with his kind and be done with this human business. The sooner he got away from that fragile, stubborn, distracting girl, the better.

* * *

><p>He never knew she had it in her.<p>

Muscles tensing, face hardening, she crouches low and evades the attacking angel, swiftly stabbing her knife where it hurts the most. Clever girl. She knows she can't kill with that. But she can harm. And she chose the best spot to do that.

The angel rolls around on the ground, clutching his crotch. Half a minute and this scrawny girl reduced this otherworldly warrior to a pathetic worm.  
>Raffe feels something tug on his heart, swelling in his chest, and he almost calls it pride. But no, that's not the right word. He doesn't have any right to be proud of her. She's not his. He merely approves of her fighting techniques, like a fellow warrior acknowledges an equal. Rationally, it seems silly to think so about a daughter of men, but given the circumstances, Raffe can't bring himself to feel wrong about it.<p>

The wind is blowing up her dress around her thighs, reminding him instantly of the fact that she is wearing – yet again – nothing but a flimsy piece of fabric, clinging to her little form in all the places his eyes shouldn't rest.

She slips the knife into her thigh-highs, drawing his eyes to the exposed skin. Despite the violence and destruction around him, Raffe feels dizzy for a moment as his blood surges in his veins.

It's all too much. Moments ago, he still thought she was dead. Here she is, flooding his head with all those big emotions, he didn't know such a small person could make him feel. Overwhelming happiness. Confusion. Relief. Lust.

He grabs her around the waist – the dizziness is back for a second – and lifts her up into his arms, clutching her to his chest. She wraps her arms around his neck and snuggles closer, her body pressing against his. He feels oddly whole, as if a missing piece inside of him slipped back into place.  
>"Don't let me go," he says, and means it.<p>

* * *

><p>Once he started, it all came out in a rush of emotions, first in the form of weak laughter and then in silent sobs against her neck. Raffe is too exhausted to care. For all the time he held back and masked his feelings, he allows himself this one moment of weakness. He wouldn't have the strength to pull away now, anyway.<p>

So he clutches her to him, almost crushing her with the force of his embrace, and buries his face into the nape of her neck, letting her closeness drown out the agony of these past weeks.

His mourning, the guilt, the hatred. Right now it doesn't matter.

She is here, in his arms, all warm skin and sand and silky fabric, and he can fool himself with the illusion that this will last, that she will always be with him. _His._  
>Her scent envelopes him, light and fresh in a way only a living person can smell. He breathes her in, his arms tightening around her even more and her fingers travel up into his hair, soothing him gently.<br>She is saying something to him, but the words don't register, and they don't need to, for the sound of her voice is enough.

Raffe always thought the phrase 'to never want to let someone go' was cheesy, but it's exactly what he feels right now.

Through the layers of clothing separating them, he feels her heart beat against his chest, strong and steady and _alive_, and it's the single most amazing thing he has ever felt.

* * *

><p>"I'm sure a respectable, modern man would turn his back so he wouldn't see if there was a slip-up."<p>

She nods at him, giving him a stern look that is mildened by the blanket in between her teeth. She struggles under the cover of the blanket, trying to wiggle out of the wet dress she wore at the aery.

Raffe can't help the grin that's tugging on his lips. "But we'd lose our heat shelter."

She is rolling her eyes and he feels giddy with happiness. It's completely irrational that such a small action should call forth such a feeling, but it's so mundane, and so very _her_. It helps him grasp onto the fact that she's really here, alive and breathing and well enough to be annoyed.

"Don't laugh or anything," he continues, teasing her, "because that could be disastrous."

Absolutely disastrous.

She's trying to glare at him, while still biting onto the overlapping ends of the blanket, and the giddiness is bubbling up inside of him warm and pleasant. God, he missed her.

"Have you heard that joke about-"

She's had enough. A ripping sound from beneath her blanket and a second later her ruined dress lands on top of his pants. He actually laughs out loud at that, something he hasn't done in a long time. He doesn't remember when he last felt this happy.  
>He chuckles and teases her and she shoots right back with a sharp tongue and a twinkle in her eyes . Now that the warmth returns to her body, there is a healthy blush on her cheeks and her movements become less stiff. It's easier to talk about what happened the last time he was with her when she's like this. When she looks so radiant and alive and healthy.<p>

"I wasn't saying you were heartbroken…," she is stammering, clearly trying to talk herself out of the situation to no avail. He decides not to say anything. He doesn't want to think about that night and there's nothing he can say to her.

Her words splutter.

He watches as heat flushes up her neck and cheeks, tinting them red, and suddenly he's aware of the fact that she's completely naked underneath that blanket.

Raffe tries to focus on her words, but a part of his mind stays on this newest, unwanted thought, making his blood boil.

"I just mean it was hard for me to … to watch."

She fiddles with the blanket uncomfortably, shifting in her seat nervously, and for a second, the blanket inches down just a bit, revealing a sliver of her skin.  
>He doesn't want to look, he really doesn't, but he can't help himself. His eyes roam the soft skin of her throat and cleavage, the curve of her collarbone and just the beginning of the swell of her left breast, before she adjusts the blanket absentmindedly, not even noticing her slip-up.<p>

He feels the world lurch around him and his blood rushes south, dictating his line of thoughts for a few unguarded moments.  
>It would be so easy. He could just pull that thing off her and take her. Right here. He's almost sure she'd let him. She wants him, too. He recalls the way she gasped into his mouth, when he kissed her that night at the aery, and his loins ache at the memory.<p>

"Well, okay, maybe you did seem just a _little_ bit heartbroken."

The last word rips him out of his thoughts.

She already looks like she regrets saying it, clutching the blanket around her like she wants to hide behind it. Raffe notices that she's shivering from the cold. His thoughts sober.

She's just a little girl. Innocent and young and probably deeply disturbed from the massacre she just witnessed. And yet, she trusts him enough to sit here with him, one of the kind that just brutally murdered every other human around her, defenseless and naked, but for a thin blanket around her, and all he does is fantasize about her like all the other blood-crazed angels. Guilt nags on him.

"You're shivering," he says lowly. "Take a shower. Maybe we'll be lucky and there will be hot water."

Raffe wonders if he should say more. Take her into his arms and hold her. But he doubts it'd be a good idea in his current state. So he gets up and turns away from her. He needs to get her out of his sight.

He bows his head and presses his eyes shut, disappearing into the darkness of the house. Away from the fire, the air cools his skin and helps him clear his thoughts.

Behind him, he hears Penryn get up slowly and shuffle out of the living room.

He should get the house ready for the night. Cover up the windows and slits. Search for supplies and food. He focuses on those simple tasks to keep his mind from wandering.

His hearing is well enough for him to pick up the sound of a blanket falling to the floor over the hiss of the shower. He pushes down the image that the sound evokes.

It is going to be a long night.

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><p><strong>There will be more, don't worry. There's a reason this story is M-rated, but I'm not just giving you sole smut. Reviews are greatly appreciated and motivate to keep writing!<strong>

Hope you enjoyed,

**~K.**


	2. 2

~2~

"Who cares about the rules? It's the end of the world, remember?"

She looks at him with defiance in her eyes, daring him to disagree with her, and Raffe is oddly pleased by the rebellious spark inside of her. She's stubborn. Like him.

"Rules are important to us. Angels are a warrior race."

"I noticed. But what does that have to do with it?"

He explains to her, but the words are hollow, unconvincing. He wonders if he's started doubting them himself.

The damn girl leans closer, clouding his mind with her proximity, and he can't help but think that it would only take an inch to close the gap between them. To taste her.

"We're really scary, aren't we?" She's referring to herself and the other Daughters of Men, and Raffe couldn't agree more.

His eyes dart down to her lips for a short moment before he can stop himself, remembering her taste and the push of her velvet tongue against his, before he manages to refocus his thoughts on the now.

"Daughters of Men are truly dangerous. Not to mention truly annoying. In a yappy, occasionally cute kind of way."

She leans back, a little frown appearing on her forehead, being the very example of cute annoying.  
>After he explains a few rules of his world, she sighs and rubs her forehead, as if her head is hurting from the load of information. "Your world is so different from mine. Do you guys have anything in common with humans?"<p>

He looks down at her and thinks about his longing for her, the almost primeval desire that she arouses in him, and how much she weakens and distracts him.

_Yes. _"Nothing we'll admit to."

"There's no way around it, is there?" Her voice sounds sad, resigned. "We're mortal enemies and I should be trying to kill you and everyone like you."

The urge to touch her, to be close to her, grips him so sudden and painful that he doesn't have the will to resist. He leans forward and touches his forehead to hers, closing his eyes against the feeling of loss that overcomes him. This is all there is. All that ever can be.

"Yes."

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><p>He never knew human food could taste so good. After living on animal food and half-rotten leftovers for weeks, the peanut butter and raisin bran taste like ambrosia.<p>

She is clearly enjoying the treat too, crunching on handfuls of cereal like an adorable, little hamster, her eyes closing blissfully at the taste. He isn't sure why she enjoys the cereals so much, as the peanut butter tastes much better on its own in his eyes, but he's not complaining. It's not a proper meal, but he's happy that he can provide her with tasteful food for a change.

Okay, if she leaves her cereal all in the peanut butter, he _is _complaining. He puts the jar away and she immediately claims it for herself, dipping her fingers in eagerly.

"Can we please just get back to how your people are partying over killing my people?"

She licks a bit of peanut butter off her fingers.

"They're celebrating the possibility of freeing their friends."

She puckers her lips around her index finger and _sucks, _her cheeks hollowing out in the process.  
>A pang of lust zips through his body. He swallows and shifts in his seat, trying to avoid the arousal from messing with his mind.<br>He glares at her, irrationally upset with her for being so goddamn tempting. So unbelievable seductive.

He dips cereal into the peanut butter, forcing her to go back to the much less dangerous chewing before she can lick up the peanut butter again. It helps to not having to see her do that anymore, but his lust has already been roused and it's difficult to keep the fantasies at bay.

"The system is purposefully harsh to keep everyone in line. It's what keeps our warrior society together."

And it's why he can't fall apart. Why he must get a grip on himself. She is fire and he has no intent to burn.

"And if their judged guilty?"

Her voice is innocent, curious, like she isn't aware at all of the trouble she's causing him. Raffe is incredulous of how unaware she is of her own attractiveness.

She looks at a dab of peanut butter on the tip of her finger and he's bracing himself for the worst, but it doesn't do him any good. Her pink tongue darts out, licking at the top of her finger, her eyes closing in bliss as she savors the taste.

He gets up so abruptly, he almost tips over the chair. It's all he can do to restrain from grabbing her and ravishing her. His heart is hammering in his chest.

"Then eternity gets longer. " His voice sounds thick to his own ears. Aroused.

He starts pacing, putting as much distance between him and the girl as possible, desperate to keep his thoughts from wandering off, but it's already too late. He can't push down the arousal, can't push down the fantasies. He thinks about her finger in her mouth. Thinks about _his _finger in her mouth. Thinks about her lips around his cock.

Shit.

He's so incredibly turned on. So pent up. He could cut glass with his hard-on.

He forces his breath out in a controlled exhale, intending to calm his racing heart, but it does nothing to ease his troubled mind. "Let's go find my sword."

While she searches the house for warmer clothes, he quickly adjusts himself, scolding himself silently for the slip-up. He won't allow this again. He is an archangel and known for his extraordinary self-control. Especially when it comes to women.  
>He has always been better at keeping himself in check than most of his warriors and one skinny, little girl wouldn't change all that. No one had ever been able to break his willpower, and she wouldn't be the first to accomplish that.<p>

* * *

><p>The Locusts whirl around them, creating wind that blows the girl's hair all around her head, but she's unaware of it, fast asleep.<p>

She fell asleep about an hour ago, after the exhaustion and post-fight adrenaline drop caught up with her. She fought it, Raffe noticed, unwilling to surrender to such a vulnerable state while surrounded by scorpion-like monsters, but after a couple of hours of flying, her eyes just fell close and her breathing evened.

She is nestled against his chest, slightly turned toward him with her face half buried in his shirt and one of her hands fisting the fabric, and the sight makes his chest ache.

He always considered human, the Daughters of Men especially, to be strange-looking at best, if not rough and coarse compared to the grace of angels, but she looks as dainty and delicate as a doll.

That is, if you ignore the blood splattered across the front of her shirt.

The blood.

She killed an angel. One of Uriel's gofers, so good riddance, but the sight of it still shocked him. He's pretty sure that she's the first human to ever have killed an angel in combat. His arms involuntarily tighten around her.

The scorpions dip down suddenly, following Paige's lead, and Raffe follows them to the ground. They have landed at the outer edge of the forest, near a small cottage, mostly-intact looking.

She stirs in his arms as his feet touch the ground and he thinks she'll wake, but then she just nuzzles into his chest more. He wishes he could let her sleep, give her a rest after all the things she endured, but he needs to check the cabin properly and he can't do that with her in his arms. More importantly, he can't fight with her in his arms, should the situation call for it.

"Hey," he whispers, and the soft, almost crooning quality of his voice surprises him. "Time to wake up."

She stirs again, her eyelids fluttering, taking only a moment to orient herself, before she jolts awake, instantly alert. He supposes it's a habit she picked up after things got drastic on earth. No time to gently shake sleep off, when you're living in constant danger.

She seems to notice that she's still in his arms, because she suddenly looks awkward. He gently lets her down.

"How long was I out?"

"Just about an hour. Let's check that cabin over there and if it's serviceable, we should rest for the night."

She nods and looks over to her sister, who is climbing down from the Locusts she's been sitting on.

"What about _him_?" She asks, her voice thickening with disgust.

He considers their possibilities for a moment. "Fake Locusts or not, he shouldn't wake up anytime soon. And if he does, I'll doubt he ever fully recovers. Should be save to bring him in and secure him. If he wakes up, I can squeeze him for information. "

She nods again, but he can tell from the look in her eyes that she doesn't like the thought of sleeping under a roof with him.

"Paige, sweetie? Are you coming?"

The girl looks up at the sound of her name, then slowly shakes her head. Her older sister seems stricken. "What? But why not?"

Paige's eyes dart to the forest. In a small voice, she whispers. "Hungry."

"Oh. _Oh!_ You want to go hunting?"

Paige hesitates, then nods.

"Have you ever hunted before?"

Again a nod, like a motion of defeat.

"Okay, well, then you should probably do that. Yeah, I think that's a good idea. But stay close to the cabin, and if anything happens, call out for us immediately, okay?"

Raffe is impressed by how well she handles herself given the circumstances. She's steeling herself, adjusting to the situation. She's cut like a survivor.

They watch Paige disappear into the forest, the swarm of scorpions following after her like giant flies, leaving a shriveled and nearly unrecognizable Beliel on the ground.

Raffe drags him into the cabin, which turns out to be save and still in a pretty good shape, where they use hiking robes and a metal chain to tie him to the stairs in the basement.  
>It's a miracle this thing even has a basement, as the cabin is pretty small and plain. Besides the kitchen and the bathroom, there is only a living room with an extensible studio couch.<p>

There is still plenty of tinned food in the kitchen, probably because the cabin is so desolated that no one stumbled across it to raid it, but neither of them feels like eating, too exhausted from the fight at the aery, followed by an hours long flight.

Raffe showers first, watching the blood on him disappear down the drain. The water is cold, but his body has an excellent regulation system, so he isn't bothered by it.

He wraps a towel around his hips, not having brought any clean clothes with him to the bathroom, and heads out into the living room.

She is already waiting on the other side, a pile of clean clothes from the drawer in the back of the room clutched to her chest. She stares at him, quickly taking in his near-nakedness, and her face heats up.

"Oh, um… is the bathroom free?"

He decides not to tease her about it. It's been a long day and he thinks bantering her about his almost nudity while she's clearly uncomfortable about it is pretty obnoxious anyway.

He rummages through the drawer, while she showers, searching for fitting clothes. Luckily, whoever owns this place must've been a pretty tall dude, because the clothes are roughly his size.

He's set up the studio couch – they'll have to share it for the night – when she comes out of the bathroom, wearing a shirt three times too big for her, over equally miss-sized sweatpants.

Her dark hair is wet and curls around her face, dripping onto her shirt. Her face looks soft and clean and she looks small and young, or to be precise, even younger, in the huge clothes.

She switches off the light before climbing onto the couch herself. It's just big enough for both of them, but they are close, almost touching. There's something strangely intimate about her laying down beside him and his heartbeat quickens. There's a wool blanket hanging over the arm rest on her side of the couch. She takes it off and offers it awkwardly to him.

Raffe waves her off. "It's alright, I don't get cold. You need it more."

"Are you sure?"

A part of him wants to take the offer, yearns to slide in under the blanket with her, if only to feel the warmth radiating off her body better, but that is a dark part of him, the worst part, so he pushes it down.

"Absolutely. Now sleep. It's been a long day."

She huffs and throws the blanket over herself, wrapping herself completely in it.

They lie next to each other on their backs in silence. Raffe throws her a look and chuckles.

"You look like a burrito, all wrapped up in that blanket."

She looks surprised at his light tone and turns to him, eyes warming.

"An angel that knows about burritos. Interesting."

He grins at her and she responds with a cheeky smile of her own, a small dimple appearing on her left cheek. Their smiles fade as the air grows heavy with all the things unsaid between them. Their eyes meet and a moment of understanding passes between them, a link-up of thoughts without words.

"Are you sure you don't want a bit of the blanket, too?" Her voice is low, almost a whisper, her eyes casting away.

Raffe doesn't respond. For a moment, he almost thinks he can refuse, certain that he can resist the prospect of having a warm body to hold during the night, but the second her eyes dart back to his, his resolve fades away.

Without a word, he grabs the edge of the blanket she offers and tugs her close, covering them both with it.

* * *

><p>In the middle of the night, he wakes up, not startled or disturbed by anything, but simply wakes, disoriented at first as he emerges from a dreamless sleep.<p>

Soft hair tickles his face and a distant scent of shampoo and something else, something that evokes a familiar flutter in his stomach, surrounds him. He becomes aware of the girl he is holding in his arms.

He is surprised at how tightly he clutches her to him, as he has no memory of taking her into his arms before he fell asleep. It's disturbing – no alarming – how much his subconsciousness seems to yearn for her closeness.

Her head is against his shoulder, nose brushing his pulse point, and it's so innocent and in a way so very _her_, that his throat constricts. Gently, he untangles her arms from his torso and sits up, scooting to the edge of the couch.

Raffe runs a hand over his face and through his hair. He tries not to look down at her, but his eyes are drawn to her, roaming the lines of her face, the slope of her eyebrows, her soft lips slightly parted, forming a sweet, little 'O'.

She's rolled over a bit, half on her stomach, one arm curling under her head and the other resting next to her, hand loosely grabbing the sheets.  
>His eyes follow the curve of her body under the thin blanket, encouraged by the darkness of the night and the seclusion of their location. Never could he look at her like that, really look at her, at day, when she is awake and there are other eyes watching them. But they are completely alone in this remote cabin, no hellhounds or angels within miles, and for all his resisting and holding back, he allows himself this minor slip. He isn't doing anything but looking, after all.<p>

The blanket is thin enough to show the lines of her body, the hollow of her lower back, the curve of her butt. Her dark hair is fanned out on the pillow, some of it falling over her face, and before he knows it, he is reaching out and brushes it back, gently tucking the soft strands behind her ear.

His eyes travel over her lips, chin and throat, and then his fingers do, too, just barely grazing her skin, feeling her softness under calloused fingertips. A sigh escapes the sleeping girl, the _human_ girl, as he strokes her face with more tenderness than he thought himself capable of . His hand reaches her shoulderblades and a few fingers become the full palm, brushing slowly down the delicious arch of her back before coming to rest on her low back.

For a moment, he struggles with his need, so overcome by it that his self-control almost crumbles. He snatches his hand away and presses his eyes shut.  
>His breathing is coming out faster than normal, his pulse roaring in his ears. Looking at her sprawled across bedsheets, lying in bed with her, is too close to that part of his mind for him to deal with.<p>

Still, he takes the time to adjust the blanket around her, tucking her in carefully, before he gets up.

Now that his heartbeat has calmed and the buzzing in his ears has ebbed away, he hears the humming sound coming from outside the cabin.

He steps to a window and draws back the curtains to survey the scene before him.

Paige is sitting outside, with her back turned towards him, looking up at the moon. If his eyesight wasn't as supreme as it is, he would've missed the blood coating her hands and forearms.  
>He leans his forehead against the pane, letting the glass cool his skin.<p>

Outside, the Locust swarm whirls around Paige.

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><p><strong>I think things are going to heat up around next chapter...<br>Please let me know what you think! **

**Hope you enjoyed!  
><strong>

**~ K.**


	3. 3

**I have answered one particular review at great length at the bottom of this page, so that's the reason why the A.N section of this chapter is so long. It's just something that I really wanted to discuss and I couldn't do it in shorter words. **

**That being said, enjoy the chapter ;) **

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><p>~3~<p>

At dawn, she has found her place at his side again, and just like last night, it's the first thing Raffe notices as he wakes up. They are on their sides, and like she seems to have subconsciously sought out his nearness, so has he hers, apparently. His arm is slung over her waist, his chin resting atop her head.

He vaguely remembers crawling back in bed with her – _god the sound of that _– but not back under the blanket. Instead, he stayed as far away from her as the small space allowed until he fell asleep.  
>While she's still the only one under the blanket, he's most definitely not <em>as far away from her<em> anymore as he was last night, when his rationality had finally caught up with him.

He doesn't allow himself the slip again, and without looking at her, he gets up and silently makes his way to the bathroom.

By the time he comes out again, she's just waking up, propping herself up on her elbows. She looks confused for a moment, looking around the bed, as if remembering his embrace and now wondering if she imagined it. She's adorably sleep-mussed, hair tangled and curly, eyelids heavy, cheeks slack.

Her eyes fall on him in the bathroom door (he remembered to bring fresh clothes with him this time). "Oh," she says. "Morning."

"Rise and shine," he offers with a half-smile.

She rolls her eyes, but her lips are curved upwards until she looks around. "Where is Paige?"

Raffe can hear her, just a few feet away from the cabin, sitting in the same spot as last night. "She's outside. I tried to call her inside last night, but she didn't respond to me."

He had called out to her several times, but had decided to leave her alone after she didn't react. He is sure that the last thing the little girl needs after everything she had to go through, is an angel that looks like a demon approaching her in the night.

She does react, however, as her sister calls out to her.

"Paige? Paige! Have you been out there the whole night? Baby, what –" her voice breaks off as she sees the blood. A look of understanding crosses her face.

She goes to sit beside her little sister and puts an arm around her, not minding the dried blood coating the girls hands.

Raffe decides to let the two of them have this moment for themselves. He goes to check on Beliel, but the bastard is still passed out and secured to the staircase.  
>He tests the stove in the kitchen, and since it's still working, he heats up two cans of dried noodles for breakfast.<p>

The cabin door opens, and the two sisters enter and quickly make their way to the bathroom.  
>A moment later, Raffe hears the shower running.<p>

His eyes fall on his wings, laying on the kitchen table, the ends hanging over the edge.  
>They're dirty and covered in blood, lacking their usual blinding brightness.<p>

Hot rage rolls over him, making his hands coil into tight fists. It's a feeling he's well acquainted with by now. Weeks of mourning, of hatred, have made him raw and brute on the inside. If Beliel dies, he will get off light. Raffe lost everything, _everything,_ because of him. His wings, his sword, his...

"Hmm, chicken flavor. My favorite."

Deeply in thoughts, he hasn't noticed her approaching. She leans against the counter and gives him a half-hearted attempt of a sarcastic smile. It doesn't reach her eyes.

"Everything alright with your sister?"

He takes the pot from the stove and fills two bowls with the instant noodles. Her lips press into a thin line and her eyes cast away.

"No." She takes one of the bowls from him. "A few month ago, she was a vegetarian. She couldn't stand the thought of an animal dying for her." A look of pain crosses her face for a second. "Now she has to kill them with her bare hands and eat their raw flesh in order not to starve."

She blinks rapidly, fighting with tears, and Raffe pretends to search the drawers for spoons. He knows that she doesn't want him to see her cry and he wants to give her a chance to compose herself, if she wants to. And she seems to, because when he turns back to her, her eyes look less glassy.

"We'll find someone who will revoke what's been done to her. And to me."

At his words, her eyes, too, travel to his wings and sympathy fills her face.

"I hope Beliel doesn't die," she whispers, almost to herself. "He doesn't deserve peace."

"I was thinking the same thing," Raffe responds, truthfully. Their eyes meet and Raffe feels the weight of this moment, the silent acknowledgement between them. No judgment for the darkest parts of their minds, the part that craves vengeance in their most desperate times, only understanding. And acceptance.

The memory of her seemingly dead body comes to his mind, the agony in her eyes before she went slack in his arms, and most distinct, her small form laying on the asphalt, pale and fragile, _lifeless_, and Raffe makes a silent promise to himself.

They will pay.

* * *

><p>She has slayed a squirrel with his sword.<p>

He lets the thought roll around in his head, indecisive whether he's upset, bemused, or incredulous. He has no idea how she managed to get his sword to do that for her. She must've taken a liking to this human girl.

She slayed a squirrel for her little sister and skinned it. It's not very well done, but it is done, and all Paige has to do is eat the now unrecognizable chunks of meat that her sister gave her.

"How the hell did you manage to persuade her to slay something as unworthy as a squirrel?"

"Unworthy?"

She looks up from washing the blood of her hands in the bathroom sink to where he's leaning against the doorframe.

"Yes, unworthy. She was made for ultimate respect and glory. Defeating evil in battle. Not for slaying innocent animals."

She grins at him. "She must like me more than you think, then."

"I wonder why that is."

She towels off her hands and leans against the sink, mimicking his pose.

"Must be my charming personality."

Raffe snorts. "You can be charming?"

"Well it's either that or my irresistible good-looks." She gives him a sunny smile.

"Where is Paige now?"

He wishes he hadn't asked, because the smile immediately fades. "She's outside. I think she doesn't want me to… to see."

She doesn't want her sister to see how she eats a bloody, raw piece of meat with her razor teeth and stitched up mouth. Raffe cannot begin to understand how anyone could do this to a helpless little girl. She's just a child. He's impressed that her psyche even manages to stay as intact as it is.

"We'll find a way."

"I know." There is gratitude in her eyes as she looks at him, and she seems to regain her strength.

He takes her hand and squeezes is gently, reassuringly.

And just like that, she slips into his arms.

She's small and warm and soft, so soft, and it's so different from when he's holding her while they're flying or when she's sleeping. The feel of her in his arms always stirs up a turmoil of emotions inside of him, but it's so much more intense when she's actively a part of it, when she's wrapping her arms around his middle and buries her face in his chest. He realizes that she never did this before, not like this, leaning against his strength, burrowing some of it. Allowing him to glimpse a moment of her weakness.

And he can't push her away.

His arms go around her almost on their own, a hand gently stroking her hair, while his head sinks onto her shoulder.

"I missed you so much," she whispers against his heart. "I thought I'd never see you again."

"So did I."

It is suddenly painful to speak. His throat feels dry and his voice sounds hoarse and rough like sandpaper.

Her fingers start tracing his back, following the folds of his shirt slowly.

He draws in a sharp breath at the feeling of her little fingers sliding over his back, and it comes with the scent of her, making him lightheaded. He wants more and he wants closer. And only when his lips brush her skin, on that sweet spot where her shoulder meets her delicate neck, does he realize that he has, in fact, leaned closer.

He feels a shudder run through her and has to suppress one of his own. His thoughts whirl out of control.

Raffe realizes that his lips still touch her skin, and that he should pull away _now_, but instead, his grip around her tightens. He tilts his head to the side and the motion makes his lips brush over her neck until they come to a rest on the spot just below her ear. Goosebumps erupt over her skin. Desire, so powerful that it nearly overwhelms him, curses through him.

She melts into his frame. He can feel her body against his, his hips pressed into her stomach, her breasts pliant against his ribs.

A low groan, almost inaudible, rumbles from deep within his throat and he presses his lips to her neck, kissing her. She tastes warm and snug somehow, like milk and honey.

A torrent of need rolls over him, and in the sudden onslaught he grabs her hips and pulls her closer, flush against him. He's pressed hard and insistent against the slope of her stomach, and the sudden contact sharpens the ache in his groin to a new height. She gasps as she feels it and his want sparks and coils.

This close, he can feel the erratic thrum of her pulse under his palms, _under his lips_, and he touches his tongue to the spot on her throat where her jugular vein throbs. Under his tongue, her pulse speeds up.

But for all the want, all the arousal that wrecks him at the moment, it is not until his name drops from her lips in a breathy, little whine, that he succumbs. The sound of it, the way she stretches the middle vowel ever so slightly, _Rah-fe_, snaps something inside of him, something that seemed to be responsible for his motion control, because his lips slip from her neck to her cheek all on their own. She tilts her head to the side automatically, as if she, too, is directed by some overpowering force, until their lips meet.

And there she is.

She's warm and sweet against his lips, and he stills for a moment, absorbing the sensation. In that moment, he almost seems to regain his self-control, before a now familiar hunger washes over him, heightened by a tenfold, and he surrenders to it.

If he thought their first kiss was desperate, this is nothing short of frantic.

Raffe remembers how he craved to memorize it all, the feel of her, and the taste, knowing that he would never experience it again, and how much more unbearable it made the yearning afterwards, like a starved man that got a bite of a delicious meal before having it taken away from him. Now that he knows what the loss of it feels like, he's all the more desperate to have it.

The first time was insistent lips and the tip of his tongue, darting against her lips, like the opening to Pandora's box. Now, his lips and tongue aren't insistent, they're imperative.

Groaning against her mouth, he opens her lips, his tongue pushing in greedily. He considers himself a great lover, a skilled lover, but with her he forgets all grace and experience. Her tongue shyly meets his and his pants tighten. He _needs_ this.

The part of his mind that isn't overrun by the sensations that her small mouth provides, is occupied with thinking about a place where he can pin her and take her. He vaguely registers that he has leaned her against the doorframe and is running his hands up and down her sides.

His fingers slip under the hem of her shirt, brushing over the bare skin of her hips. She writhes under his touch, and the friction makes him grit his teeth. He catches her lower lip in between his teeth and licks it, and she responds by nipping his tongue. He didn't know it was possible to be this turned on from just kissing. Her hands mimic his and slip under the fabric of his shirt.

Her fingers curiously brush over his abs, sending a surge of hard, sharp arousal from his groin through his body, and Raffe breaks off the kiss with a hiss.

She looks up at him in surprise, unsure if she's done anything wrong. Her eyes are big and doe-like as she studies him, taking in the unfamiliar sight of him winded and lustful. She looks beautiful and desirable with kissed-swollen lips and flustered cheeks and he wants to lean down and run his tongue over her full, red bottom lip, again.

Instead, he leans back as he slowly regains his bearings, realizing the position they're in. He leans against her, pressing her into the door frame with his body, her hands under his shirt, his having rucked up hers to her ribs. He pulls them away like he's burned himself and takes a step back.

She stiffens up and her face falls with rejection and embarrassment, the happy glow in her eyes fading to make room for a shut-down, hollow expression. He has seen that look before, and it's as painful as it was back then.

"I…," he breaks off, clearing his throat. His voice is thick and hoarse, laced with wanting.

He licks his lips. Bad idea. They taste like her, and a new wave of desire washes over him. He allows himself two seconds to regain control over himself.

Then, he speaks up again. "I shouldn't have done that. I wasn't…" _able to hold back? … in control? _"thinking."

She opens her mouth – her sweet, tempting mouth – to say something, but words appear to fail her. She seems completely shaken. Her own desire is written plainly across her face, from the blown-out pupils, to the way she bites her lips when she looks at him. She wants him, and that thought is enough to almost make him pounce on her again.

"I'll look for Paige," she rasps, turning away from him hastily. He doesn't look after her as he hears the entrance door falling shut.

Raffe leans back against the doorframe, the opposite one, not the one he pressed her against moments earlier, and runs a hand over his face.

He kicks the door shut angrily and leans forward on the sink, avoiding the look in the mirror. He doesn't need to see his blown pupils and mussed hair to remind himself of what he just did. He splashes cold water into his face to clear his head. It doesn't work. Not at all.

Looking down at the bulge in his pants, he decides a cold shower would be adequate. He doubts she will come back anytime soon, but there is no way he can face her like this.

He rips off his shirt and throws it carelessly on the ground. Pulls of boots and socks. He rucks his pants and underwear down, relieved to free his stiffness from the confining clothes, and steps under the shower.

He makes sure to turn the water as cold as possible, but his regulation system quickly adjusts, marring the effect. No cold water in the world could help him right now.  
>Frustrated, Raffe tips his head down, letting the water spill over his hair and neck. He opens his wings as much as the shower stall allows and thinks about war, Uriel, scorpion-monsters, anything but <em>her<em> and her goddamn lips.

Nothing helps.

Fine.

He'll take care of the problem himself. _Not_ thinking about her. It's not like he hasn't other women to think about. There are plenty of she-angels he did more with than just kiss. He recalls particularly outstanding experiences, memories he always regarded as especially erotic. But the images won't last. Her face pops up in his head again and again, and he's catching himself wondering what would've happened if he had pulled off her blanket back then at the beach house, how she might would've looked, all bare, in the dim light of the fire. He stops angrily, grunting in annoyance. So he can't even jerk off anymore without her messing with his mind?

He feels like slamming his fist through the wall. He needs some kind of release. He's way to close to a path that will lead to is downfall, if he can't control himself, and he won't be able to do that if he doesn't blow off some steam.

Of course, he has thought about her like this. He can't stop those thoughts from wandering into his. He never indulged in it, though. He never allowed himself to let it go that far. Nothing good comes that way. But he needs this now.

_Just this once. _

He closes his hand around his cock and begins slowly, letting disjointed fragments of memories and fantasies jumble in his head. He thinks about the way that damn dress at the old aery clung to her body, thinks about her smooth, pale thighs and her small, pert breasts. Then he thinks about the night at the beach house and lets that fantasy play out for a bit, her on her back and opening her legs for him, letting him _in_.

His hand speeds up and he braces the other one on the wall, leaning forward.

He recalls the way she says his name, altering it slightly to fit in with his fantasy, imagining her voice breathy, wanting. In his head, she is writhing and squirming underneath him, wrapping her legs around his waist and her arms around his shoulders to bring him closer, _deeper_. She rolls her hips up against him, nails digging into his back above his wing joints, as he thrusts into her, deep and hard. He wonders how it would feel to be inside her, deep home in her soft warmth.

He groans lowly in the back of his throat and the hand against the wall balls into a fist.

The more aroused he gets, the more freedom he allows his thoughts. The memory of her lips around her index finger – the _peanut butter accident_ as he has named it – pops up, and this time he lingers on it, relishing the image.

Soon, it's not her finger anymore. Her lips frame the head of his cock, cheeks hollowing as she sucks, her pretty face flustered as her eyes meet his.

"Fuck," he groans, his entire body tensing with pleasure. He tightens his hand around his cock, rolling his thumb over the tip. His wings twitch reflexively on his back, but he's too distracted to care. He's so hard it hurts.

In his head, her pink tongue darts out and licks the tip of his dick, before taking his length in her mouth again. He imagines her head bobbing back and forth, imagines stroking her hair back from her face and gathering it in one hand, guiding her motions.

The fantasy switches rapidly, and she's on her back again, this time on a bed, dark curls splaying on the bed sheets. He has no idea what the context of this scene is, where or what this bed is, but he honestly doesn't give a fuck.  
>He's above her and inside her, and he runs his hands over her breasts, playing with one of her nipples, while he pushes himself into her.<br>Her head tosses back on the bed, lips opening to release a gasp of his name, and her thighs start trembling as she comes for him.

Raffe draws in a sharp breath, his muscles clenching taunt and a jolt of ecstasy shoots down his spine. He is thrown over the edge abruptly, his teeth clashing as he forces back his sounds of pleasure. His orgasm washes over him almost violently, leaving him with ragged breathing and trembling muscles.  
><em>La petite mort<em>, he thinks, remembering the French calling. He finds it quite fitting.

He leans back against the shower wall, bat wings flush against the glass, and lets the water splash onto his body, his now super-sensible cock twitching as it runs over the tip. The water is freezing, but the cold doesn't register on his heated skin.

"Holy hell," he groans, his voice fading under the hiss of the shower.

_Holy hell indeed. _

He doesn't remember when he last had such an intense orgasm from a hand-job. He's never been this pent up, this turned on by one particular woman. And never by a Daughter of Man at all.  
>He's had his fun, now he had to stop this before it got out of hand. He could not, would not, make a habit of it.<p>

He wonders how long he took. Not too long, that much is sure – he was simply too pent up for extraordinary stamina - but probably longer than a normal shower would've taken.

He quickly washes the sweat off his body and steps out of the shower, toweling himself off. He throws his clothes back on and pulls his hand through his wet hair, checking himself in the mirror to make sure he looks sorted again.

He locks his desire into a vault inside his head, the place where he keeps all his forbidden thoughts and fantasies of never-can-be, and draws in a breath. It was time to face reality again.

She is fire and he would not burn.

* * *

><p><strong>Oh my. This turned out smuttier than I intended. I blame the fact that Raffe is so unbearable hot.<br>Anyway, I'm sure you don't mind ;)** **Took me some time to deliver, but it's a super long chapter, so I hope that somewhat makes up for it. I also changed the summary of this story (took out the 'mild' before the smut xD) **

**I'd like to say, thank you so much for your reviews! I'm very happy that you all seem to like this story so far, even though not much smut has happened yet. Until now. Anyway, I'm not done yet, so reviews are definitely keeping me motivated to write more. **

**This fandom needs smut. And fluff. Basically, we all need more Raffryn to fill the hole in our lifes until End of Days comes out (Have you guys read the excerpt? o.O) **

**See you next time ;) **

**.K **

**Edit: I received a very interesting review from Mondscheinsonate (cool name, btw) and I just HAD to respond immediately (so I hope you are reading this and if so, let me know)**

**First of all, let me start by saying that I absolutely despise this seperation of women into the categories 'Virgin' and 'Non-virgin'. As if there were this astronomical difference in those two "types". I think that being shy/curious/confident in bed has not necessarily something to do with how experienced you are. I agree that having experience, no matter how much, does not make you undesirable at all and by no means a 'slut'. I am not going for the "pure, untouched virgin meets big, experienced sex-god" thing with this story and I don't think that I wrote that in between the lines. When I use words like 'innocent' or 'cute' to describe Penryn, I don't mean innocent in a sexual way (like pure or untouched.. because that suggests that non-virgins are somewhat corrupted or 'filthy' and that is complete BS). I mean it as a contrast to what Raffe is used to (that being violent warrior angels with a huge kill count). Susan Ee herself stated in an interview that Raffe basically regards Penryn as an infant compared to himself.  
><strong>

**I also don't regard Raffe as super duper experienced. I think he's had plenty more than humans (given he's so much older) but in comparison to angels, he might not be all that experienced, given that he's always on earth and everything. I do think however, that he's a very confident guy, as well - or maybe even especially - when it comes to sexuality. He's rather arrogant and aware of his own attractiveness and appeal to women, and I think that he is probably quite good in bed and knows it. **

**That being said, I _do_ think that Pen is actually a virgin. There are several scenes in the book that make it pretty clear. In Angelfall, when Raffe starts undressing in the car, she says that she has never seen a men undress before and it's only normal to be curious (so I doubt she's ever had sex or given head...) In the second book, she also gets all nervous and embarrassed when Raffe starts undressing (even though she knows he's not going to make a move on her or something, she's just intimidated by him being naked). After they kiss, she states that she has kissed boys before, but that was more like a nice, pleasant, small thing, while this passionate kiss (or make-out session whatever) was something she'd never experienced before. So, yeah, I do think she is a virgin. **

**Penryn might be a rather mature, confident, funny and outgoing personality, but I always felt like she was rather inexperienced. I think she's not all _that _shy, but rather curious, when it comes to kissing/touching etc. She states that herself after all in the first book ('it's only natural to be curious'). She's also unsure of where she's at with Raffe, which is why I think she'd be a lot more passive than he would be. **

**And when it comes to the fluffy vs. rough sex. I am not sure what type of peope Pen and Raffe are in bed. I think they have a really nice dynamic that could go either way. They'd probably like both, depending on the mood.  
>I cannot promise you what type of sex their going to have in my story, or how far they'll go. I just write and see where they take me and what I'm feeling at that moment.<br>What I can promise you is that you will not get a "sweet, untouched virgin is deflowered by the love of her life and has three orgasms during her first time" scene. **

**And if you want to read about them going at it like rabbits and are impatient/unsure if you're going to get that from this story, I suggest writing your own smut (and putting it on this site , because we all wanna read that!) ;) **


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